


Lost Girls

by Safiye_Choson



Series: Lost Girls [1]
Category: Life Is Strange (Video Game)
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-01
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-13 11:15:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29775348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Safiye_Choson/pseuds/Safiye_Choson
Summary: Chloe: No matter what you choose, I know you'll make the right decision.Max: Chloe... I can't make this choice...Chloe: No, Max... You're the only one who can.After this, every player had to make one of the most difficult decisions in this game: Sacrifice Chloe or Sacrifice Arcadia Bay. This is also the subject of one of the hottest debates in the LiS universe.Although I haven't read it yet, there's a comic series covering after the Sacrifice Arcadia Bay ending. But as for me, I strongly support Sacrifice Chloe ending, although I love Miss Blue with every fiber of my being.So this was a reason I have been writing this crap, covering after Chloe's death, for more than a year and a half. This was challenging work, not just because English isn't my mother tongue, but all I've written so far were essays or theses.I believe my work is way worse than comic series or other well-formed fanfics, but still, I wish that reading this stuff won't be a waste of time, at least. :)
Series: Lost Girls [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2188425
Comments: 2
Kudos: 3





	1. Bird's Cage #1

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. This is the first novel I've ever written (including the original one and fanfic), so I believe this is far from a masterpiece. The most I can hope is a 3/5 score, so please don't say that I didn't mention this.
> 
> 2\. You may be noticed already, but English is not my mother tongue. I can say I did all I can, but many descriptions and lines can be ridiculous or unrealistic.
> 
> 3\. The narrator of this novel is the original character, Lucretia "Luc" Barbarigo. Because of this, the first 4 Chapters are assigned to introduce her. In short, you should wait until Chapter 5 is begin to meet someone you familiar with.
> 
> 4\. Episode 5 of Season 2 was released while I translate this from my native language to English and polish it, but I decided to ignore Wolf Brothers. For example, Joyce and David still live together in Arcadia Bay in 2033. And at the same time, I regarded Before the Storm as canon. Steph Gingrich, the character from BtS, takes some roles in this novel, for example.
> 
> 5\. This novel covers 1995 to 2033, but I ignored technical progress and real-life incidents (including a cursed disease named Coronavirus) from 2020.
> 
> 6\. I often got inspiration from following songs and novels besides LiS itself and its soundtracks such as "Obstacle," "Spanish Sahara," and "Out of Line."  
> * Starlight (song by Taylor Swift)  
> * San Francisco (song by Galantis)  
> * A Step You Can't Take Back (song by Keira Knightley)  
> * Say Hello to Him When the Time Comes (written by Takuji Ichikawa)  
> * The Flanders Panel (written by Arturo Pérez-Reverte)

> **I'm Price, Chloe Price! Bang!**
> 
> **\- Chloe Price in "Chrysalis"**

Dear Chloe.

"Well... How about writing a diary then?"

Steph Gingrich said. It was one fine summer day in 2033. We sat side by side on a bench in a lake park near Steph's house, located somewhere in Idaho. The weather was clear and water in a lake(small enough to call it a pond) glittered in the sunlight.

"Diary?" I asked. I sought her advice because I didn't have an idea, but it was unexpected.

"Yeah, you said you feel like there still are some scores to settle."

"So?"

"In my experience, your best bet is confiding your story to someone you can trust. But I know it's a long, long story, and you can't do that with Max about this. So you may want to choose the next best thing: writing a diary."

"No offense, but..." I waved my hand. "You also know that doing something every day isn't my personality. I believe Chloe was the same. And a diary is a record of every day. I don't know how that will help."

"You've never written a diary." Steph smiled. "You're right, of course, but some diaries aren't a record of every day. Or I'll change my word to a personal record or essay if you want. And talking about Chloe, I'm sorry you're wrong."

"What?"

"I never saw it myself, but I've heard she wrote her feelings toward Rachel in the form of unsent letters to her." "Oh, well." I thought. "How about do the same? Writing about your feelings toward Max and Chloe, about the moments from you and Max's first meeting to this day. I believe you'll gain much, even if you don't show it to others."

* * *

"Advice from someone who writes a diary for many years," I muttered on my way home. "Writing a letter to Chloe? What in blazes is that. I'm not a teenage girl, you know."

I shook my head, then raised the volume of the car radio. I didn't blame Steph, but I thought any noise or music could be the best to chase my gloom away. But the radio show hosts were talking about some latest movie, covering the friendship of three girls.

"Three girls." I smiled bitterly. "Whatever. I believe you'll be parted into two and one soon." Then I changed the channel, but after some minutes, the announcer said someone named Mr. Likes to Make Things Worse sent a song request, "Clear the Hurdle."

"Please..." I sighed because I knew there's a label "feat. Max Caulfield" to that song. "Sometimes, I seriously need a nap, okay?"

There, I turned off the radio and accelerated my car.

"What are you thinking about?"

It was then when I heard a voice inside me. It was more displeased than I heard my own voice from the radio, so I bent my brows.

"You really have no idea?" I grumbled. "I wanted to let go of my jealousy towards Chloe by that music, but... Wait, before that, I knew I would hear you no more."

"Oh, yeah? Then it seems not." My inner voice giggled. "Frankly, it isn't up to me to choose to say farewell or not. And come on, why are you hesitating. Diary or letter, it isn't that hard to write it."

"Really? I've never written long sentences."

I confronted rather than asked, but the inner voice just said, "Oh. It's a little unexpected you gave that reason."

"Why."

"'Why?' Think about it. Until this day, all of your important matters, how much of it were what you had done before? Living complicated in high school? Doing a part-time job after graduation? Made your debut as a musician? The moment when you played the keyboard in front of Max for the first time? That long journey on foot? You know, I'm gonna stop this because it's enough already."

"And you know, everyone is the same about that."

"But that's the point. Everyone, including you and Max, has done something you haven't before for countless times. Just one more won't be harm."

* * *

It was dark when I came back, but Max wasn't home. I thought about where she is for a second, then recalled she said she'd be late today for going out far to find some photo ops.

"So... where should I begin?" Sitting at a desk in my room, open the first page of the blue-covered notebook I bought on the way home, I thought.

Which story should I start with? How did Max and I meet? My feelings towards her? Self-introduction? Or why I write these scribbles? Yeah, the conversation I had with Steph would be the best. Then self-intro. Who am I, how was my childhood like, what did I do before meeting Max. I believe I know about you pretty much now, but you wouldn't know about me a lot.

Thinking like that, I covered the necklace with a key with my right hand despite myself.

"Of course, grandma," I muttered. "You know I'm gonna write about you, too, a lot."

Then I started to drive the quill to pour out every last feeling I've had, such as love, hatred, joy, and envy towards Max Caulfield and Chloe Price. No one would read this unsent letter-shit except me, and even if Max reads this, I doubt she'll find something new to her. You may call me a bitch or worse in the end, but I couldn't be heard it... in this world, at least.

So... are you ready to read?


	2. Bird's Cage #2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. This is the first novel I've ever written (including the original one and fanfic), so I believe this is far from a masterpiece. The most I can hope is a 3/5 score, so please don't say that I didn't mention this.
> 
> 2\. You may be noticed already, but English is not my mother tongue. I can say I did all I can, but many descriptions and lines can be ridiculous or unrealistic.
> 
> 3\. The narrator of this novel is the original character, Lucretia "Luc" Barbarigo. Because of this, the first 4 Chapters are assigned to introduce her. In short, you should wait until Chapter 5 is begin to meet someone you familiar with.
> 
> 4\. Episode 5 of Season 2 was released while I translate this from my native language to English and polish it, but I decided to ignore Wolf Brothers. For example, Joyce and David still live together in Arcadia Bay in 2033. And at the same time, I regarded Before the Storm as canon. Steph Gingrich, the character from BtS, takes some roles in this novel, for example.
> 
> 5\. This novel covers 1995 to 2033, but I ignored technical progress and real-life incidents (including a cursed disease named Coronavirus) from 2020.
> 
> 6\. I often got inspiration from following songs and novels besides LiS itself and its soundtracks such as "Obstacle," "Spanish Sahara," and "Out of Line."  
> * Starlight (song by Taylor Swift)  
> * San Francisco (song by Galantis)  
> * A Step You Can't Take Back (song by Keira Knightley)  
> * Say Hello to Him When the Time Comes (written by Takuji Ichikawa)  
> * The Flanders Panel (written by Arturo Pérez-Reverte)

> **Fun fact: shark babies eat their siblings in the womb. Maybe that's why I'm an only child?**
> 
> **\- Chloe Price in "Awake"**

My name is Lucretia Barbarigo, but you can call me Luc. I'm a one-woman indie-band playing piano and... housemate of Max.

I was born in 1996.7.13. in a seaside town named Astoria, Oregon. My dad Marco was a philosophy professor at the University of Astoria, and my mom Catherine was a district attorney.

My mom and dad were workaholics. Dad used to come to work early in the morning and come home late at night every day because of lectures, study, and some administrative works I never knew. I also hardly saw mom's face because she spent most of her time at her office downtown. So, it's still a mystery to me how they met and get married(Well, come to think of it, I never asked about that). Anyway, it was said that I had a brother 2 years younger than me, but he died barely over a year old because of a difficult delivery. And mom got the diagnosis that she would never be pregnant again.

My mom was basically indifferent to housework, but there was one thing she cared about TOO much. I didn't know her long career as DA made her obsessed with morality or because I was her only child for a long time, but she bothered about my manners and dressing a hell of a lot.

Yeah, this wasn't just "Study hard" or "Be polite" things, but rather than a "Do not swing your arms that much when you walk," "You must put your arms first when you get dress," "You must hold fork and knife this way," "Do not read comics or fantasy novels, it is nothing but a waste of time" shits. In short, I often felt like I wasn't her daughter but a puppet who obeys her owner's will without any question.

You might ask what my dad did? Well, I've wondered there a philosophical quote, "Leave child-raising to your wife entirely and follow her words whatever it is." for long too.

Still, I felt okay before entering elementary school. I believed other children would be the same. But I realized I was dead wrong on the first day in school, so I started to rebel against my parents. But I just got more lessons that being defiant is only leads to catching hell and crying locked in my room.

Anyway, my introspective nature forced by mom and dad, weird clothes, and hairstyles (let's just say half of the people who met me asked my parents are preachers) made me couldn't make many friends. I mean, who likes a girl awkwardly imitate other's words and acts.

As a result, I chose not to approach others until I graduate from middle school. I only had a handful of acquaintances by then, no friends who can open my mind at all.

Still, two things made me survive.

First, I can't remember since when, but I've liked singing a song since I was very young. I always hum a tune after I caught hell from mom or was bullied at school before I knew. But I didn't talk about this to mom or dad that humming something always makes me calm because they would obviously "order" me to sing a popular song many decades ago only.

Another one was my grandma Isabella, who lived in a seaside house half a mile from my home. If I briefly put this third-rate soap opera, she raised my dad because my grandpa passed away early, dad met and fell in love with my mom, grandma opposed this marriage for obvious reason but ignored, so she kicked out from her home by her worst enemy who they call "daughter-in-law."

Because she lived alone with her pension, grandma's house was no more than a small cabin. But still, it was my favorite place in the town. Compare to my boring house, where are no decorations and few dull pieces of furniture, her cabin adorned with framed photos and exotic masks(which looked came from all over the world) on the wall, rag dolls on the bookcase made there a unique place on earth. And grandma herself was full of grace too, just like Queen Victoria, who ruled a kingdom across the sea some decades ago.

But the reason I rushed to her cabin and stayed until the curfew wasn't just because that house was cool, but I loved grandma. First, she always understood my feelings and paid attention to my words. She always asked why I was thinking like that and explained calmly even I said something stupid. She also agreed with my ill-speaking mom unless I crossed the line. It also was her who I said that I want to be a singer for the first time, as you may guess. She encouraged me by saying it's a wonderful idea, joked "give me your first album for free." Then she fixed her piano, which was used as a shelf by then at night, and taught me how to play it. I had a talent for it, so the pupil surpassed her master after some years of practice.

But she didn't always cover me. She noticed whenever I told a lie and gave me a good scolding when I did wrong. But because her words were uncannily persuasive and she never held grudges, I never thought that I was scolded without reason.

And she was my second parent but also a teacher outside of school. She worked as a history teacher in middle and high schools until I was 2 or 3, so she knew many things about world history. I can't remember since when, but she told me about the stories of the Founding Fathers, Italians of the Renaissance-era(she said that my ancestors came from Venice), Julius Caesar, Alexander the Great, and many other historical figures and events when we walked beach park where we both liked, shopping for dinner, and at the dinner table. Her story was unending, and I loved to listen to her. Because I always felt didactic fairy tales were freaking ridiculous thanks to my unhappy childhood, and she just told me about what actually happened instead of adding a moral thing.

So once, I asked during the walk at the seaside park. Every protagonist on TV and fairy tales are good and wise while villains are evil and foolish, but this seems wrong. There were so many good and foolish or evil and wise ones. Why is there a huge gap between reality and fiction.

Then she answered the 8-years old girl.

"Hm, I don't know about that. But can we say if there are absolutely good and evil? For instance... well... yes, general Robert Lee can be a fine example. We can say he was evil because he fought for the party that opposed racial equality. But he was, at the very same time, highly esteemed by his men."

"Then why they told stories about good heroes and bad villains so much?"

"That's because they wanted to give hope to children that you'll have a good day if you live a good and moral life."

"But that's not true," I said. "Ah, I like your stories, of course, but those told me that isn't true."

Then I made a sad face, I remember. But after a short silence, she opened her mouth.

"Then, you can find your hope elsewhere," she said.

"Where do you mean?"

"Where my princess likes. There are some conditions, of course, such as law or morals. But luckily, music is clearly legitimate in America. Who on Earth would say be quiet if you sing a heavenly song in the park. If you spend your days faithfully and diligently, who knows, a miracle in fairy tales will happen."

"Miracle?" I smiled. "What kind of?"

"Let me see... Okay, one fine they, my princess sings a beautiful song in a park, and a handsome and young man approaches and talks to you. 'Oh, my prima donna, will you marry me?'"

Her playful words with a deep voice made me laugh loudly. Also, her plain words had felt as persuasive as usual.

"Oh, grandma. Please stop it."

"Why, queens like Eva Perón and Grace Kelly would agree with that word. Maybe my princess could be a queen somewhere."

"And become a mom just like Catherine? No, I won't marry all my life."

Then she smiled after I pouted and laughed again.

"But don't forget what I said: live faithfully and diligently. Singing a song is clearly a wonderful thing, and as long as you try to achieve your dream, I'm sure something great would come to you."

* * *

Days with grandma, which seemed like lasts forever, ended when I entered middle school.

It was I who noticed it. There was no other way because my mom or dad visited grandma's cabin twice a year at most.

From someday, grandma has begun to forget some things. She forgot what she was saying in the middle of a story, failed to remember the promise with me, and didn't know where she was on the way to shopping or walk.

Well, I don't know, but maybe it's because I believed she would be by my side as my guardian and teacher for always, I believed she would be fine soon. So I did nothing but remind her what she said and where we were whenever she lost her memory. But her symptom got worse and worse as time goes. So after spending some sleepless nights about this, I told dad the day before the elementary school's last school trip. But he said lightly, "Really? Ok." and did nothing else. So I thought it would be better not to say but believed he would do something.

* * *

The afternoon of the next day I returned from the trip, I headed to grandma's cabin as usual. Then I found the front door is locked.

It was rare because she hardly went out alone and knew well when my school ends, but it still happened sometimes. So I thought she would come home soon, and opened the door with a spare key I received from her. I checked that everything is in their place, as usual, sat on grandma's rocking chair, then fell asleep.

* * *

When I awoke to the sound of the heavy rain, it was already dark. I called grandma out loud, but there was no response. Then I realized I've never waited for her this long, started to panic. That made me see a cozy cabin as a haunted house, exotic masks as heads of fiends, rag dolls as corpses, and the thunder as the sign of the end of the world.

Finally, after some moments of trembling, I began to run to my home.

* * *

I still don't know why I ran and what I thought during running. Whether it was because I recalled I said something to dad earlier, or it was just an effort to overcome fear.

But one sure thing was, I've never run so fast, not just by then, but until today. I recklessly ran whether I breathe hard or not, fell and skinned my knew or not. I just felt I couldn't stop until I get home.

Then when I arrived home, the lights were off, and the clock showed 7:30 pm. I gasped for breath at the front door but suddenly felt sick, and I rushed to the toilet to vomit everything in my stomach. Then I plopped down on the couch in the living room and cried for a spell.

By now, you may ask what was wrong with me. My grandma wasn't Emmanuel Kant, and an exception occurs sometimes. But I was overcome by an ominous feeling then, and it hit the mark.

* * *

It was about 15 minutes later when I heard the front door opened. I slowly rose from the couch to ask where grandma is to mom and dad, who came home much earlier than usual.

As I wrote earlier, they were workaholics, but it seemed they had a date or something on that day. Because they were in semi-formal dresses, dad had something that looked like a movie poster in hand, and I smelt a faint fragrance of perfume on mom.

When they looked at me, still was dripping wet by rain, their smile turned into surprise at once. Especially, I read the sentence, "Is this brat, who is in fucking unimaginable state, is really my daughter?" from mom's face.

"Father," I called. "I have something to ask you."

He barely realized that I called him only after the second time, but mom instead took a step ahead.

"Before that," she said angrily. "you must get into the bath right now, and tell me in what the hell spirit you roamed living room soaking wet, and..."

She used a commanding tone as usual, But I, on the other hand, wasn't usual.

"Mother," so I cut her short. "I am asking to father."

"Lucretia Barbarigo." She said with an even more hardened face.

"I have no memory that I have ever taught my daughter that it's okay to cut off her parents' words or rebel against. I have no idea how on earth you behave this rudely, but if you cross the line just one more time..."

"Honey," dad stopped her this time.

"Lucretia is utterly strange today, as you pointed out, but it would be good to check what the reason is. So, Lucretia, what are you want to ask?"

Then mom stepped back after took a deep breath, so I finally got a chance to ask dad.

* * *

Dementia. That's what dad said. A syndrome not uncommon for the elderly will lose memories about recent events and surrounding people, and finally going to lose herself. Moreover, these symptoms are getting worse and worse, and no cure is developed yet. So, she is in a sanatorium in Portland.

From dad's words, I couldn't feel any emotion except only a little bit of sadness. If he said, "The leaves are falling when autumn comes, and it's a little sad to see. But we can't help it because that's the way it is.", there would be no difference in his tone. And while he announced like that, my beloved mother stood by with her arms cross and said nothing.

All of those pissed me off. People named my "parents," who had a freaking date instead of getting sad when my most loved one, and the facts that grandma got dementia. I well knew what is dead, although I never witnessed it, so I imagined how she and I would be part sometimes. But it was literally unexpected that she would forget about me. It felt like nothing but a terrible nightmare that someone so intelligent and graceful forgets about herself.

So I gave full vent to my feelings. I can't clearly remember what I said, but I think I yelled, "have you fucking lost your mind," "thanks, now I got to know what should I do when mom got Alzheimer," and so on to dad, then I was in a violent outburst when mom began to scold me again. Then mom slapped my cheek hard enough to throw me to the ground, so I immediately rushed to my room and took my saving and clothes, then ran out from home. Mom and dad were too surprised to catch me, so mom's angry voices just followed.

Although it still looked like a haunted house, there was nowhere to go except grandma's house. I was shivering as I washed my whole body in a shower booth, then tried to sleep on the bed.

* * *

The next day, I opened my eyes at 10 am. I felt understandably heavy because I showered in the rain yesterday, so I decided to skip school. This would screw up my clean record, but I didn't give a shit.

After 3 days of switching off to the world, I returned home. I wanted to stay for a week, but the amount of elementary school student's savings was obvious. It seemed that mom and dad lost all their energy when I ran away, so they said nothing when I marched home in a stately manner, except "I will halve your pocket money from now on." by mom.

* * *

Maybe you feel I'm talking about my grandma too much, but please understand. She was my second parent and closest friend to me when I went through the worst time in my life. If you were asked to introduce someone special besides Max... Rachel, for example, I believe you would say this long too.

And there is not much to tell after she left me because I was nothing but an introverted, quiet girl without her.

After school, I went to the empty cabin and practiced the piano for one or two hours a day. Looking back, it was since then when I began to pay attention to rock and jazz. I hesitated can I play rock with grandma's piano or not because I always played soft music with it before, but I thought she would be glad to see if I live "faithfully and diligently."

After the practice, I burrowed history books from the library and read at the cabin or seaside park where she and I often walked. I often found parts that she wouldn't tell like that way or different from her story, but it wasn't that bad to pass the time alone.

Luckily, mom didn't disagree about studying history. Historian was a fine job even to her unique moral sense, while dad liked it a lot. And because I played a perfect daughter after grandma left me, I was rarely scolded by them.

But although I began to become accustomed to staying alone, I never filled the emptiness. For example, I often dreamed about grandma. That dream was including happy memories with her, but I repeatedly woke from the same nightmare.

In that bad dream, I sat on the bench of the seaside park. But I couldn't budge my body at all while school teachers, classmates, mom, and dad passed in front of me. Then suddenly, grandma looked into my eyes under my nose. She was short in real but was taller than anyone in the dream, and her blank face made me scare. Then I woke up in a sweat.

When I woke from that nightmare and couldn't sleep, I sometimes thought of going to Portland and meet her. In fact, I could go and return in one day unawares to mom or dad thanks to their work time and saved some coins.

But now I think I should have to do anything to go there, but I finally didn't meet her. I was afraid of how she would say or act in front of me, and I couldn't recognize that better days are gone and never return.


	3. Bird's Cage #3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. This is the first novel I've ever written (including the original one and fanfic), so I believe this is far from a masterpiece. The most I can hope is a 3/5 score, so please don't say that I didn't mention this.
> 
> 2\. You may be noticed already, but English is not my mother tongue. I can say I did all I can, but many descriptions and lines can be ridiculous or unrealistic.
> 
> 3\. The narrator of this novel is the original character, Lucretia "Luc" Barbarigo. Because of this, the first 4 Chapters are assigned to introduce her. In short, you should wait until Chapter 5 is begin to meet someone you familiar with.
> 
> 4\. Episode 5 of Season 2 was released while I translate this from my native language to English and polish it, but I decided to ignore Wolf Brothers. For example, Joyce and David still live together in Arcadia Bay in 2033. And at the same time, I regarded Before the Storm as canon. Steph Gingrich, the character from BtS, takes some roles in this novel, for example.
> 
> 5\. This novel covers 1995 to 2033, but I ignored technical progress and real-life incidents (including a cursed disease named Coronavirus) from 2020.
> 
> 6\. I often got inspiration from following songs and novels besides LiS itself and its soundtracks such as "Obstacle," "Spanish Sahara," and "Out of Line."  
> * Starlight (song by Taylor Swift)  
> * San Francisco (song by Galantis)  
> * A Step You Can't Take Back (song by Keira Knightley)  
> * Say Hello to Him When the Time Comes (written by Takuji Ichikawa)  
> * The Flanders Panel (written by Arturo Pérez-Reverte)

> **How do you know which way is up when your whole life has been turned upside down?**
> 
> **\- Chloe Price in "Brave New World"**

"Sheridan?"

It was one night about 2 years later that I entered high school. I sat absent-mindedly in front of a desk in my room, turned off the room's switch except for a blue mood lamp, I prayed dad to buy at last birthday, lit the room with a soft glow.

"Yes, as I just said, your mother and I decided to send you to the Hubbard Academy in Sheridan."

"May I ask the reason? There is nothing wrong with the Astoria high school..."

"Yes, but that's the problem. it isn't good for you to commute to school from home comfortably."

"I can't understand, father," I said, and then mom stood next to dad, knitted her brows, and cleared her throat.

"You will become a university student in a couple of years, so you can not live dependent on your parents." mom said. "To encourage you to be independent, I believe there is no better way than to enter the boarding school, not that far from your home."

Then I looked at her face because the word "Blazes, do you think I've been lived off you people?" was right on the tip of my tongue. But I swallowed it and decided to listen to what she'll say.

"Do not be lazy because you live separately. I will not stand aside if there would be only one flaw in your school report." As if she couldn't read my mind, she continued. "And make a video call to my cellular phone once a week on... Friday evening. You know what happens next if you do not make a call, or your dress or tone is somewhat strange."

"Yes, mother. Understood."

She was going to say something about my blunt answer, but she just said, "Go to bed, it is late," instead and left my room.

When mom and dad got far enough, I swung my fist and shouted, "Fuck yeah!" quietly.

After some years of performance, mom and dad finally considered me as an obedient and good daughter by this time. So they believed I was live off them and considered to encourage independence. But sorry to them, it was their mistake, and it didn't matter to me whether it was the best academy on earth or the worst school ever if it was far from home. The reason I gave a blunt answer was to conceal my joy, in fact.

* * *

Because I couldn't wait to leave for Sheridan, the last weeks at Astoria flew away. I continued to read books and play the piano, but I couldn't put my heart into it anymore. I just itched to see the city and live a life without the interference of mom, so I was so glad when I got accepted into Habbard Academy, passed my driving test, and when I got a car from dad as a gift(although it was a used compact car without back seat).

* * *

The morning I finally left for the new city, I left an empty house(mom and dad were went to work already). Then went to grandma's house for the last time for a while and slowly looked around to keep in mind the view of the cabin: framed photos and exotic masks on the wall, rag dolls on the bookcase. I considered bringing those with me because they would be no one to take care of them anymore, but it seemed the cabin was a better place for those than a high school dormitory. Instead, I took the cabin key to make a necklace with it.

* * *

The way to Sheridan from Astoria in the late summer of 2013 still remains within me as the most impressive moment in high teen. The cloudless sky was crystal blue, and the weather felt perfectly warm. Although I was running on the ground, I thought sailors of early modern Portugal and Spain who made sail to the unknown world would feel this way.

"Hello... old one, are you still functional?"

I mumbled to the car radio because you should sound a bugle when you set out on a voyage. It scratched at first but soon got a clear reception, and then a song was on the radio(I learned it was a "Raven" by Lisa Marie Presley later). I felt like that song comfort me to forget the bad things that have happened so far and fly free to the blue sky like a raven. Then I named my stage name as a singer, Blue Raven, from this feeling.

* * *

Because mom promised to give me a good sum of pocket money and I had a single room in the dormitory, I was able to play a triple role: ordinary student in classrooms, obedient daughter on Friday evening, and rebellious teen girl when I was alone.

In class, I wore clothes that others wore and pretended to pay attention to class to make my school report spotless. It would be better to focus on the class in real, but every class was just so-and-so because I wanted to leave home but didn't want to enter this school. So I scrawled something or composed some melody in a notebook to pretending to take notes or imagined what other guys would think at the moment. Luckily I maintained my GPA above 3.5 and kept make mom satisfied.

When I had to video call with mom, I picked cellphone only after taking a shower and wore clothes mom would like(which are, would be in fashion in a fucking century ago). I wore that old-time dress for 10 minutes a week at most but maintained in mint condition and brushed hair for 10 minutes to not to be pointed out from mom, and narrowly evaded tricky questions.

When I got self-time, I often played a keyboard in my dorm room. I could buy a fine one after 3 months of saving and played my classic or ballad arrangement into rock or my first original works.

Looking back, these early works were nothing but an artsy-fartsy pretentious one or poor montage of previous works, but I believe maiden work is important for every artist.

Then when I became tired of playing the keyboard, I strolled around the city aimlessly. Sheridan wasn't a coastal city but had a pretty river, and when I got sentimental, I took a drag on the cigarette sometimes.

But although I started a new life like that, some things didn't change. Firstly, I still didn't have someone who I can call a friend. I was mature enough not to be controlled by mom or dad and understand how to say and act "normally," of course, so there was no reason to be a pariah unless someone sees a video call with mom. Still, my old habit made me keep a distance from others and accustomed to spending time alone. Although I had some acquaintances among the academy's 200 students, I opened up my mind to no one.

Secondly, although it became more and more infrequent, I was still haunted by the same nightmare I had in Astoria.

* * *

After a year, some changes occurred in my life. First, I started to busk at nighttime on weekdays or weekends. I wore clothes that would make mom startled and a necklace with grandma's key as pendants whenever I went out to nearby cities such as Dallas, McMinnville, or Willamina with a keyboard.

Although I only played the classic or ballad arrangements instead of my original songs yet, touching the keyboard while feeling fresh wind made me taste a part of freedom I felt on the road to Sheridan. So I couldn't stop busking even though some of my acquaintances recognized and took a photo of me and put it on Facebook. So while I spend days throw off old dress and put on jeans as soon as I finished video call and play the keyboard in the street or have a night on the tiles, then wake up 10 minutes before the class, I just prayed that mom wouldn't sign up to Facebook.

* * *

A month after I started busking, I got a message from dad that grandma passed away. It was not a phone call, but a short text message composed of "how have you been" and "your grandma's funeral is going to be held the day after tomorrow, so come back home." His warmth, which made him sent a freaking short message to his daughter about the death of her most precious one, made me breathtaking, but I answered, "It's Friday. I'll talk with mom."

But to think about it, I had no right to blame him. Because to mom, who was just about to hang up the phone without saying anything about the funeral, I just said I can't attend because of homework. She said, "So, you are busy? Okay then." and nothing more. She didn't scold me, but I believe she didn't care from the start.

The reason I didn't send off grandma's last journey was the same as I didn't visit the sanatorium: I didn't ready to acknowledge her death. Although I knew it wasn't true, I've been believed I could be meet her again. But attending her funeral was betray that belief.

The next day after the sleepless night, I walked Sheridan and its surroundings endlessly in a classroom outfit(I wanted to wear a busking dress, in fact, but gave up not to be noticed.) I even forgot to have a meal, so it was almost 6 pm when I came to my sense and entered the nearby bistro.

And Sunday, I went for a drive for a long. I just drove a car without any destination, then my unconscious led me to the northwest, western coast of Oregon.

About an hour later, I found myself stood by Cape Meares lighthouse. I was laughed at by the thinking that the memories of walking at the beach park with grandma led me here, but the Pacific Ocean's view looked beautiful and calm.

"Why do you like the sea?"

When I thought this sea would be continued to the park, the memory of when I was 5 years old came to my mind.

"Because the sea makes me comfortable."

"Why?"

"Every water flows to the sea, whether its stream, rain, cascades down from the mountains, wastewater threw away by man, whatever. In other words, sea embrace every water, either it's clean or dirty, came from a mountain or river or iceberg."

"So...?"

"So, that's the point, princess. Sea embraces every water, so it feels that the sea even embraces us when we become close to it, isn't it?"

"Hm..." I said. "Then, I don't need a sea."

"Why?"

"Because I have you, grandma. You embrace me whenever I happy, I sad, I accomplished something, I made wrong. So I don't need another makes me comfortable."

* * *

The next morning, I woke up in front of the desk in a vest and jeans. I had no memory of how come I went to sleep sitting up, and my head was pounding. After rubbed my eyes, I saw three beer bottles rolling around on the desk and a cellphone on the floor. I was aware it's 11:30 am when I turned on the phone screen and then saw a photo of the lighthouse on the screen, which made me recall what I did last night. I thought my spotless school report may be fucked up now but decided to ignore it. Then I opened the window and took a drag, then took a shower and headed toward the cafeteria.

* * *

There were some more events in my last school year in high school.

First, I made a boyfriend for the first and last time in my life. This isn't a happy memory, so briefly put, Joshua Stearn, one of my male acquaintances, proposed to me all of a sudden. I refused it because I didn't know what he wanted from me, but he was undeterred. So I finally accepted it because I felt some sincerity from his word, and I knew he isn't imprudent.

Although this relationship wasn't what I wanted, I earned two things from him. First, he was quite good at taking pictures. Although I couldn't say I'm a singer then, I thought photography could be useful to make a real CD cover, so I learned about the photo from him a little.

Secondly, I got unexpected advice about playing the keyboard. Until then, I bent my body and raised my shoulder like doing some exercise when I played despite myself. "Why are you so desperate?" he said, then I realized why my finger hurt after play the keyboard only a little.

But although he gave me lessons, the relationship with him didn't last long because he began to request to make physical contact with me: Walking hand in hand, hug, kiss, etc. But I couldn't take a kiss because of the reason I don't know, and having sex was just out of the question. In the end, we slowly grew apart, then ended the relationship silently.

* * *

In the late winter of the year, after the relationship, which I don't know it was love or not, I finally made my first album, "At The Lighthouse." I picked five best works I've ever made by then and composed a new title track for this.

I know I'm complimenting myself, but I put a lot of work into this. I carefully considered which photo(photos of Cape Meares lighthouse I took when I revisited) I should pick as an album cover for two days, then listened to the same song over and over again to decide the order of the track.

Then one Sunday, I drove to Astoria with one of the ten CDs I made and a bouquet I bought at a shop near the school. Although I couldn't keep to the letter, I wanted to keep the promise: present my first album to grandma somehow. So I wore a winter busking dress after some thought to "show" her the clothes I wear when I stay true to myself. I worried I might run into mom or dad, but that wouldn't happen unless they changed their lifestyle.

* * *

Grandma's grave was even more lonely than I expected. White marble tombstone was plain and unadorned, and nothing was engraved except the name "ISABELLA BARBARIGO" and the dates. "Is this the first flower for grandma?" I thought because there wasn't even a petal in front of the tombstone. I touched it despite myself, and it was cold enough to make me sad. When I arrived at the cemetery, I was thinking of leaving CD in front of the tombstone with a bouquet, but I thought I couldn't leave it in a sad place like this. So I gave grandma a silent prayer, then left there with my album carried under my arm.

After I left the cemetery, I visited some places of memory: a supermarket grandma and I shopped together for dinner, a seaside park we walked together. But these were inappropriate to leave CD.

So, after all, there was only one place left—Grandma's cabin.

* * *

Because it was deserted for 2 years, the cabin was coated with dust. I coughed as soon as I entered the house, and every decoration looked dirty. That made me sad again, so I decided to clean the whole house, even though I knew everything would be covered by dust soon.

* * *

After cleaning, I sat on a grandma's rocking chair, the same chair I sat on the day I sprinted from cabin to home out of fear. Then I pulled a ring I found while cleaning out of my pocket. It was made of blue plastic beads and looked recently put on the rocking chair because it wasn't dusty at all. Then I recalled that it was my gift to grandma made by me when I was an elementary student. Grandma cherished my gift, always wore it although it was a little big to put. But I still had no idea how this ring could be in the cabin.

I looked at that ring for a while, then put it in my right middle finger despite myself. It fitted nicely as if I made it for myself, so I regarded it as a return gift from grandma for my CD.

* * *

Maybe I became tired because of cleaning. I fell asleep after I shook the chair for a moment.

In my dream, grandma and I sat side by side on a piano chair. She didn't seem that old or weak. I realized she looked just like herself 10 years ago when we were together in real. She and I knew she's already dead, but we took it all for granted.

"Beautiful." When I finished playing "At The Lighthouse," she said. "It's so like you."

"Thank you," I said. "I'm happy you like this because I made this for you."

"I know. You may didn't know, but I was watching you all the time."

"I'm Sorry..." I took a deep breath and said with a quivering voice while I looked her in the eye.

"What? What do you mean?"

"I didn't visit that sanatorium, didn't attend your funeral. Even without any reason. I feel like I failed you."

I knew it was too late to apologize, but I felt I must say because it was better late than never. But she smiled without saying anything, and it was unexpected to me.

"It's okay." She said. "I know it wasn't 'without any reason.' And they say the funeral is for the dead, but in fact, it's for the living, who are sad at the loss of the deceased. And I know you honored me in your own way, so it's all right."

"But.."

"And you kept the promise, give me your first album. Such a great album like this. I'm not Cassandra, but I can say you'll be a fine musician."

"Thanks to Joshua," I said. "It was him who gave me advice about seeing myself just as it is and be myself."

"Yes, he seemed nice and good. But he couldn't say something important to you because he broke up with you so early."

"What is it?"

"How long will you keep your secret, my princess? How long won't you say that you want to be a singer to Marco and Catherine?"

"Well... I've never thought about that, actually."

"If you choose to keep quiet, then you may well know, they'll try to make you into a historian. Because they think you're interested in history much, and I think so too. Yes, if you want to be a historian, it'll be okay to say nothing. But you know what, my princess? The worst emperors of China would make an excellent artist or carpenter if they didn't become a ruler."

As soon as she finished speaking, the ring I put began to shine. It was so bright that I had to cover my eyes, then I woke up.

* * *

It went dark when I awoke. After checking the blue ring was still worn on my middle finger, I looked around a cabin and then left there.

By that time, I didn't dream about grandma much. But if I dream about her, it was still the same old nightmare. So to think about it, it was the first happy dream about her since she left me.

However, I couldn't know that it was a dream or something similar to that. It was not only so vivid, but also there was something I couldn't understand. Because it was a dream, grandma's words should be a reflection of my unconsciousness. But I could certainly say that I had no idea about the history of China. It was trivial but felt like a good reason that it wasn't a normal dream.


	4. Bird's Cage #4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. This is the first novel I've ever written (including the original one and fanfic), so I believe this is far from a masterpiece. The most I can hope is a 3/5 score, so please don't say that I didn't mention this.
> 
> 2\. You may be noticed already, but English is not my mother tongue. I can say I did all I can, but many descriptions and lines can be ridiculous or unrealistic.
> 
> 3\. The narrator of this novel is the original character, Lucretia "Luc" Barbarigo. Because of this, the first 4 Chapters are assigned to introduce her. In short, you should wait until Chapter 5 is begin to meet someone you familiar with.
> 
> 4\. Episode 5 of Season 2 was released while I translate this from my native language to English and polish it, but I decided to ignore Wolf Brothers. For example, Joyce and David still live together in Arcadia Bay in 2033. And at the same time, I regarded Before the Storm as canon. Steph Gingrich, the character from BtS, takes some roles in this novel, for example.
> 
> 5\. This novel covers 1995 to 2033, but I ignored technical progress and real-life incidents (including a cursed disease named Coronavirus) from 2020.
> 
> 6\. I often got inspiration from following songs and novels besides LiS itself and its soundtracks such as "Obstacle," "Spanish Sahara," and "Out of Line."  
> * Starlight (song by Taylor Swift)  
> * San Francisco (song by Galantis)  
> * A Step You Can't Take Back (song by Keira Knightley)  
> * Say Hello to Him When the Time Comes (written by Takuji Ichikawa)  
> * The Flanders Panel (written by Arturo Pérez-Reverte)

> **This place is sketchy as hell. An old abandoned building in the middle of nowhere, miles from home? Home... right. Now I remember why I'm here. Any place is better than home.**
> 
> **\- Chloe Price in "Awake"**

After returning from grandma's cabin, where I left my album, I started to live as I want at her advice. I skipped every morning class, openly ignored teachers' words in afternoon classes in my busking dress, stopped calling video calls. Eventually, my parents visited my school a few months before graduation, and I was summoned to the principal's office. I took a drag slowly on campus and then met mom and dad again in two years.

That meeting... let's just say it was explosive. Mom raved with anger at the sight of me, cursed, and swore at me in the principal's presence. I prepared for scolding but couldn't expect that much, so I backtalked with harsh words despite myself. And finally, "I don't wanna go to goddamn college in a million years. Just stay out of my life!" became a waterdrop which made a cup overflowed. She slapped my face so hard enough to knock me down on the floor, then left the office without looking back.

* * *

As you may have expected, mom didn't come to my graduation. I found dad at the graduation ceremony, but I soon knew he came to deliver the mom's message rather than congratulate me.

According to him, I had to go to Medford. He said that mom's cousin or what recently married and moved, so mom bought her house cheaply for me. Instead, she decided not to support me financially anymore. In short: she decided to give me a home, but nothing more.

In a cafe near the high school after graduation, dad conveyed this and tried hard to persuade me that it's not too late to grow up. I felt the sincerity from his word and thought I wouldn't choose this way if he told me like this only some years earlier.

But there is a time for everything, as they say, so I ignored dad's sorrowful eyes, although it hurt my heart a little.

* * *

"What the blazes..."

It was the first word I spitted before I knew when I saw my new "house." Grandma's cabin felt like a castle compared to that, horribly small and old enough to feel it wasn't that different from a shack.

My first impression was still unchanged after I entered the house. It was simply furnished, but most of them were too old for a few years' use.

"Now you will admit," I seemed to hear mom's voice when I sighed. "that you are not ready to strike out on your own. You have no means of supporting yourself. You are just a miserable, ill-mannered, wayward little..."

"Stop it," I said to her in my mind. "I really don't want to admit this, but I'm your daughter. YOUR. Daughter. You may make a mistake to think I can't endure difficulty for long, but..."

...bring your shit.

* * *

Thanks to the savings from pocket money, I had some money when I graduated high school. But I had to buy this and that to live alone, so I had no choice to rush for a job.

Fortunately, it didn't take long to find two part-time works at a cafe and a diner: 5 days a week, 5 hours each. But because I've never worked before, working 10 hours a day wasn't easy at all. I got on with brewing and serving coffee in no time, but dish-washing for hours wiped me out. I even couldn't touch the keyboard because I didn't have the strength to lift a finger when I got home from work in the first few weeks.

But I slowly settled in work and started to busk in the city park or write a score at home on the weekends. It made me comfortable that mom knows what I'm actually doing, and I don't know that it was because of that, my skills at playing, singing, and composing were improved day by day. And finally, my new album "Mountain"(using melodies I inspired during walking in Prescott Park) got enthusiastic responses as a newcomer.

* * *

A part-time job at daylight and building a career as a singer at night made me feel like 3 years for 3 months. And things were slowly going better and better. More and more people downloaded my song for a fee from my personal website, and some buskers asked my permission to remake some of my songs. I didn't reveal my face except when I was busking, so being asked for an autograph was still hopeless, but I could make a living only with my career and part-time work at the diner.

The reason I quitted work at the cafe, which was far easier, was the manager of the diner. He was in the mid-50s by then and knew I'm "Blue Raven." After some days he began to play my songs in the diner by chance he asked me I'm the singer, then he seemed very pleased with my answer. He said he wanted to become a singer too in his young days and promised to support my career. He reduced my working hours by 1 hour per day without a pay cut, advised me to make my card(which I didn't think it needs yet), and change the appearance. "No offense," he said, "but you seem more like a lost girl than a street singer." So after some days, I dyed a streak of my hair blue, following my stage name. He smiled and said, "Now that's what I meant." when he saw my hair for the first time, so I finally dyed my whole hair.

* * *

While living in Medford, I met grandma in my dream, felt so vivid whenever I awoke from, sometimes. It also felt somewhat unrealistic because she often said I never knew or never thought. And the ring on my right middle finger began to shine dazzlingly when the time came awoke. So I tried to have a dream about her while I removed the ring, but never succeed as if the ring was somehow connected with her.

After about 3 years since I began to live in Medford, I met her again in a dream.

"So... what are you going to from now?" after congratulating me on the release of my first single, she said.

"What?" to me, that was an unexpected question. "Hm... make new songs, busk on the street, work at the diner, that's my life, for now."

"Yes, you're doing great, really. But why don't you see the world?"

"I believe I already see it. I'm traveling around to the west coast once or twice a month."

"You're right, but the world is much larger than Oregon. You have never seen the outside of the state. Have you?"

"That's true... Well, do you have any recommendations then?"

"I think I have. Your house is in the north of the state, high school was in the middle, and now you live in the south. So how about going further south? San Francisco, for example."

"San Francisco...?"

"Yes, I've been there twice. You'll love that city."

* * *

So in the early fall of 2019, I took a week off to visit San Francisco. As grandma said, I got to like the city in no time. There were great galleries and museums here and there, and many musicians busked on the street. I can't forget the moment when I first saw Golden Gate Bridge and Bay Bridge and got a taste of China and Japan a little in Chinatown and Japantown. Carried along by the atmosphere, I enthusiastically traveled around in the daytime, busked at the Jefferson Square Park with my keyboard, near the hotel I stayed in the evening for 5 days.

On the early morning of the 6th day of the travel, I awoke a little earlier than the other days. I was a little tired because I walked Presidio for long the day before, but I felt feel refreshed at the same time.

I lay down on the bed for a bit, then left the hotel with a camera and bag to start the last the at the city a little earlier than other days.

Because I visited the most famous sights, I planned to go around the city as I like and feel its atmosphere. So I rode in a random bus at the bus stop near the bistro where I ate breakfast, then got out off at a random stop.

After an hour of wandering, I happened to pass by the gallery named "Zeitgeist." There was a board introducing that entry of the photo contest "Dreams in Everyday Life," and that name made me recall the blue sky I saw when I was from Astoria to Sheridan. Led by that image, I entered the gallery.

* * *

Because it was just before the opening, the gallery was in little disorder. The information desk staff said I could see the exhibition although it's 10 minutes to the opening, so I stepped slowly to enjoy the entries.

Although I didn't expect that much, there were many great works: photo of a man closing his eyes, an older woman staring into space as if she was lost in memories, a student studying hard for his future dream, and a field that looked so tranquil enough to give a dream-like feeling.

Finally, I stood before the photo that won the 2nd prize. It was a photo of a girl around my age sitting in a chair next to the window and stare into space. She held a small piece of paper that looked like a photo or something and made a faint smile while the early sunset cast a light on her.

Her side face in the photo wasn't especially beautiful or attractive but still unique because I could simultaneously read a range of emotions. She seemed to be happy, sad, just blank, or lost in memory.

Because of that, I couldn't take my eye off that photo easily. As if I was under hypnosis, I just looked into her face, and only after some time, I remembered that wasn't the photo that won the 1st prize.

But the prizewinning photo was well below expectations. It was a photo from the back of a young girl running a peaceful and beautiful field. The work's composition and focal point were fine, indeed, but it didn't seem like it deserved the prize at all.

So I returned to the photo of a girl of my own age and took a close look at her side face and eye, which could portray various feelings together at the same time.

I didn't know why I smiled, felt my heart beating, my face flushed, and fell tremble while fixed my eyes to the photo. I thought about what is happening to me because the photo wasn't my grandma's but a total stranger, but I couldn't suppress my feelings.

When I brought my hand to the face in the photo despite myself, I heard a voice from behind the back. I put down my hand with surprise, then looked behind.

That was when I met the girl in the photo for the first time—the girl who has been leading me to this day and who you know very well.


	5. Wings of Butterfly #1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. This is the first novel I've ever written (including the original one and fanfic), so I believe this is far from a masterpiece. The most I can hope is a 3/5 score, so please don't say that I didn't mention this.
> 
> 2\. You may be noticed already, but English is not my mother tongue. I can say I did all I can, but many descriptions and lines can be ridiculous or unrealistic.
> 
> 3\. The narrator of this novel is the original character, Lucretia "Luc" Barbarigo. Because of this, the first 4 Chapters are assigned to introduce her. In short, you should wait until Chapter 5 is begin to meet someone you familiar with.
> 
> 4\. Episode 5 of Season 2 was released while I translate this from my native language to English and polish it, but I decided to ignore Wolf Brothers. For example, Joyce and David still live together in Arcadia Bay in 2033. And at the same time, I regarded Before the Storm as canon. Steph Gingrich, the character from BtS, takes some roles in this novel, for example.
> 
> 5\. This novel covers 1995 to 2033, but I ignored technical progress and real-life incidents (including a cursed disease named Coronavirus) from 2020.
> 
> 6\. I often got inspiration from following songs and novels besides LiS itself and its soundtracks such as "Obstacle," "Spanish Sahara," and "Out of Line."  
> * Starlight (song by Taylor Swift)  
> * San Francisco (song by Galantis)  
> * A Step You Can't Take Back (song by Keira Knightley)  
> * Say Hello to Him When the Time Comes (written by Takuji Ichikawa)  
> * The Flanders Panel (written by Arturo Pérez-Reverte)

> **Sometimes when you meet someone who's going to change your life... You just know it, I guess.**
> 
> **\- Chloe Price in "Awake"**

"Chloe...?" she said. I brought my hand to the photo, so I put down my hand fast and turned around.

There stood a girl around my age with brown short hair. She had freckles on the face, wearing a black trench coat, deep purple shirts, and dark jeans. Her dress was simple and plain, but a necklace with three bullets hanging as pendants caught my eyes. It seemed a little awkward at first because she dressed in a modest style but fitted well on the second look.

Her expression showed to me... was complicated as the girl in the photo. It was difficult to describe, but I thought it's a mixture of delight, hesitation, indecision, and surprise. But none of those wasn't appropriate to the situation when you meet someone for the first time.

After about 30 seconds of standing face to face without any words, I finally realized that the girl in front of me was the same in the photo.

"Uhhh... Hello?" I said in the end.

"Oh, sorry. I've mixed you up with someone else," she said after lightly shook her head a couple of times. Maybe it was just me, but I thought I saw she sighed.

"Really? With who?"

'With who?' I still don't know why I asked this to this day. I could just leave the place with "Really? Sorry, I'm not her." instead. I had seen the photos enough, and I didn't like a chat with a stranger.

But that question passed my lips before I knew.

"With my friend. She and I've been very close since I was very young."

"And Chloe is her name?"

"Yes, Chloe Price. It's been a while since I see her for the last time, so I just unconsciously remind her."

"Really? How she and I alike?"

"Um, it's hard to say clearly. Because we just met, you know. But... you have the same face, dress style, and maybe even the same voice as her. It's almost incredible, to be honest."

"That's interesting," I said and tried to imagine the girl named Chloe. I thought that girl and I are much alike in character if we are similar in appearance, but it was difficult because having no friend in life and being one's best friend can't be the same thing.

"Anyway, I'm sorry I'm not her."

"No, it's me who should be saying sorry."

After that, there was silence again. There was no problem if I say goodbye and leave the place this time, but oddly enough, I didn't want to.

"Uhh..." So I began to talk like that. She looked into my eyes, and I thought she maybe wants me to stay a little longer.

"You took this photo?"

It wasn't a great way to continue the conversation, but that was the best I could make. Luckily she made a faint smile and nodded.

"Yes, it's my selfie... portraiture. Do you like it?"

"Definitely. I take a photo as a hobby, but it'll take a century to take a portrait this cool for me."

"You take a photo, too?" she asked gladly.

"Just as I said, as a hobby. I'm a street musician."

Then I handed over my card to her. She softly mumbled something, then smiled bitterly. It was clear that she never heard about me, but I couldn't know the meaning of that smile.

"I'm going to busk at 7:30 p.m. today at Jefferson Square Park. I had an opportunity to appreciate your work, so if you have time..."

When I was going to invite her, there was a sound of high heels. It wasn't loud to make me frown but enough to feel its presence.

"Max!" said the owner of heels.

"Oh. Hi, Victoria."

A woman called Victoria confidently walked with elegant steps as if she's a model and hugged Max. She acted as though there was no one around, so I had no choice but to stand aside.

"It's been a while. How long has it been, really? We haven't met since we graduate, so it's 4 years?" Victoria said.

"No, we met when you were awarded the grand prize at Western Coast Photo Contest in Los Angeles. Can't you remember?"

"Hm? Were we...? Well, you know I'm not interested in under the 2nd prize, so... Oh, sorry. Old habits again."

"No, that's okay. That's you. Anyway, Congratulations on the grand prize at this contest."

"And congratulations on the 2nd prize, Max. By the way..."

With 'By the way,' she looked at me.

"Well... Have we met before?"

"Excuse...?"

I asked back in some surprise, but she narrowed her eyes just like thinking something. But after some moments, she said "Hm," and shrugged her shoulders.

"Hm, it's on the tip of my tongue, but I don't know. This happens sometimes. Right?"

"Yeah... Well... you can be mistaken, just as your friend here."

She just nodded lightly as though she didn't give a shit to my words, then turned to Max and continued to talk. Then I smelt a faint smell of some kind of perfume. Although I had little knowledge about it for grandma and I paid little attention about dressing up, it smelt of money.

But then, come to think of money, she was a typical snob from head to toe. Her clothes and heel seemed luxurious, and her bracelet alone seemed as expensive as my half-year income.

* * *

I don't know luxury affects it, but the woman who talked with the photo girl almost seemed as confident personified. On the other hand, I, who stood in an unsettled posture, felt inferior to her in almost every aspect: property, career, dignity, and grace.

The photo girl still talked with the rich while I thought that way, although she seemed a little embarrassed. Finally, I left the place with a silent farewell.

* * *

After I came out of the gallery, I continued to wander around the city. But strangely, the photo and photographer glimmered in front of my eyes distracted me whatever I saw.

"What in the blazes is happening to me," I muttered. I had thought losing heart to a total stranger is only possible in the fairy tales, which I hated the most, but that freaking thing happened to me.

"Get real, Luc," my inner voice told me. "Forget about that girl now. I bet she would laugh and chat with that snob by now. No one takes a runaway girl instead of a previous rich daughter. Go someplace, have a drink, catch some Z's, and erase her from your memory."

What choice did I have? I followed as it was.

* * *

It was 7 p.m. when I awoke in a bed. I get out of bed thinking I clearly set the alarm for 6 and readied for busking, skipping dinner. Then I remembered that I invited that photo girl to my performance, although I couldn't hear the answer, and realized this could be the last bet.

* * *

Because I rushed out of the hotel after barely washed my hair, it was 7:25 p.m. when I get to the park. I installed my keyboard, flexed my fingers, then waited for someone who wasn't sure whether she would come or not.

The time is whimsical by nature, as you know because it flows by lightspeed sometimes, but at the speed of a crawling turtle other times. But this evening, it passed extremely slow, as if someone wanted to teach me the true meaning of eternity. The special guest didn't come while the clock was ticking, then finally, the minute hand pointed the number 10.

"I told you." my inner voice spoke to me again. "erase her from your memory."

"But..."

"Come on, what do you think you are. Look in the mirror, loser. You're nothing but a nameless street musician. But... Victoria, was she? She's a famous photographer winning the grand prize for every contest she engages in. Who will you gonna spend time with if you were in that photo girl's place?"

"You know," I answered. "This is the reason I want you to shut up for good."

"Yeah, I know I suck. But face it, rational judgment often sucks. Well then, what are you waiting for. Just beat the keyboard with emotion. That's the only thing you can do now if you don't want to cry loudly."

"Fuck it," I said out loud. Then put my fingers on the keyboard, took a deep breath, closed my eyes not to shed tears, and started to play.

* * *

After about 20 minutes, the keyboard was still in perfect shape while sweat rolled down my back, and my fingers screamed. I finally shook my wrist and cursed to myself.

Then I took a deep breath, slowly opened my eyes. And there, she stood.

* * *

When I realized our eyes met, she smiled and gave a clap to me. I stared at her face vacantly because of unforeseen circumstances until she said, "Wowser."

"It was cool," she said as she walked toward me.

"Uh... really...?"

"Yeah, it was a little intense, but I liked it."

Although I thought it wasn't 'little' intense, I was reassured by her words. Because even though she lied, it would mean she had feelings for me.

While I thought like that, she came close to me and put her hand on my keyboard. She stroked it tenderly like she was stroking something fragile.

"How long have you been here?" looking at her hand, I asked.

"Well... about 10 to 15 minutes? You can say I'm late, but I believe I already see you have a gift."

"Hell, thanks."

I said and looked up at her. But she said nothing as if she didn't prepare what to say.

But think about it, she came with an invitation. It meant I should lead the conversation. But I just said "Um..." because I didn't know what to say at that moment.

"Uh... Blue Raven, right?"

When I thought hard about what I should talk about, she said first after nodding lightly.

"What? Ye... yeah. Right."

"Do you mind if I ask your real name? It wasn't on your card."

"Lucretia. But call me Luc."

It was a little unexpected she asked my name, but it made me glad because now I was convinced there was something between her and me.

"Luc?" she smiled. "Whoa, I didn't know you're a Jedi."

"Jed...? Oh, you mean..."

Her joke made me laugh. I had thought she's shy at the gallery, but I thought I might be wrong by then.

"Well, he's Skywalker, if I remember correctly, and I'm Barbarigo. And I don't like SF that much. My life is dramatic enough."

"That's sad. But... same with me, I believe," she said. "By the way, it's Max."

"Huh?"

"I'm Max Caulfield. I believe I didn't tell my name earlier. Some may call be as Maxine, but please ignore them."

* * *

"Want to go for a drink?"

After I played a couple of songs more, Max suggested. So I followed her after I threw my keyboard into my hotel room.

Walking for some time, she led me to a live bar named "Five Sharks." Characteristically, it was decked with sea-themed decor, and the four-member band played a piece of music on the stage.

"Hmm... not bad," I said, sitting down.

"Glad you like," Max said, sitting opposite to me.

"While in college," she continued. "when I... first came to this city, one of my friends showed here. The atmosphere and music are fine to me, and the name attracted me above all. So I come to this bar every time I come to this city."

A waiter came to the table to take our order when she said that. I ordered Blue Margarita, and Max asked for Ginger Ale.

"I'm sorry about before." she suddenly said.

"What? What for."

"For made you wait. Although I didn't officially accept your invitation, I didn't reject either. So I thought you might well wait for me, and I knew I wasn't wrong when seeing you beat keyboard that hard."

"Well... it's okay. I already forgot about that, really." I shook my head. "It was a little late, that's true, but you finally came for me."

"You may think this as an excuse, but it's all thanks to Victoria. She always goes French whenever she have dinner."

Max humorously pronounced the word "French," which made me laugh because I thought Victoria would fit perfectly to that image too.

"Après moi le déluge." I said.

"What?"

"'After me the flood.' I think this word goes with her nicely."

"Harsh words." she laughed. "I know she has a bad first impression, but she isn't bitchy that much."

"Yeah... she's your friend, after all."

"Huh?"

"They say you can understand someone if you know her friend, so if she's a friend like..."

"And now you're praising yourself," Max said.

"Am I?"

"Why, you just said that you could understand someone if you know her friend."

She looked at me with a smile, and it took some seconds to understand her meaning.

"It means... we're friends now?"

"Aren't we?"

"Yeah, we are... thanks."

Although I said 'thanks' and no more, I felt more than simple gratitude at that moment. She was one of the few who ever expressed her feelings to me in the 23 years of my life. Some others liked me, but who they liked was "Blue Raven," not "Luc Barbarigo."

"To tell the truth, it was my fault." Drinking Blue Margarita, which was served meantime, I said. "It was me who was frightened beforehand at her and ran away. Victoria was suck but seemed somebody. So I thought you must be a great photographer because a snob like her talks frankly with you."

"You were overestimating me."

"No, I still don't think so. That photo I saw at the gallery, it's good evidence of your talent. But I, on the other hand..."

I felt my face blushed by then, so I barely added the words "trivial street musician."

"Hey, don't be so harsh on yourself," Max said, and I looked at her face. She stared into space as if she thought about something, then continued.

"There were two, my closest friend and some psychopath, who talked to me like that. Although they used their own expressions, the point was the same: You're already a fine photographer. Do not hesitate to share your gift. Now I can say they were right. I mean, for us artists, it's important to have confidence in yourself and share your work with others. And you..."

Before Max finished her word, a band on the stage began to play a familiar song. It was new to me but still familiar, and I realized it was a rearranged version of my song for the band. She seemed to know it, and we laughed at almost the same time.

* * *

When my song finished, I excused Max to hit the restroom. I looked back at Max, and I found she looked at me.

When I returned, Max looked into a photo on the table. It seemed she actually focused on it because she couldn't notice I approached her. I became a little playful after a warm conversation with her, so I suddenly tapped her on the shoulder.

"Hey! What are you looking at?"

"Man," she spat with a startle. I actually wanted to frighten her a little, but her reaction was beyond expectation.

"Please announce yourself, Chl..."

She stopped and sighed. I felt awkward at that name, so I just sat across from her.

"Sorry," she said and put the photo in her inside coat pocket. I only caught a glimpse of it, but it looked like an old photo captures something sky blue.

Continuously being mixed up with someone I don't know wasn't pleasant, but I didn't want to express it.

"You really love your job." so I said. "working everywhere and everyplace."

"No..." Max paltered. "it's... just something personal, you know..."

"Okay, but talking about personal, what's your story?"

"What?"

"How you started your photo career? I believe there was some kind of particular reason. Or you can't take a masterpiece like that, I believe."

"Oh," Max stuttered. "Well, yeah... there's a story. Okay..."

Then she searched her memory for a while.

"They've been told me that I'm introverted since I was young. Now I've become a little more active, I think, but still, I consider myself not extroverted. So I've always liked to observe and take photos of the surrounding events rather than take part in them myself. Luckily my closest friend and my parents supported me to become a photographer, so I take photos of myself, the world, everything. It may sound sad... but I feel alive whenever I click the shutter."

"It doesn't sound sad at all," I said.

"Really?"

"Why, should I said 'That's sad' here?"

"No... it's just... there was someone who answered about this almost the same with you."

"Hm." I nodded. I thought that 'someone' could be "Chloe" she mixed up with me twice, but I didn't get nosy.

"Then, what were you?" Max asked.

"Huh?"

"The reason you get started in music. I said my story, so I want to listen to your story in turn."

"Fine," I answered and began my tale. "Unlike your photo, my music began from a conflict with my mom and dad. They, especially my mom, treated me like a doll, which they can customize as their will rather than their daughter with flesh. So I had no choice but to bottling up many emotions and questions. And it was my grandma who protected me not to go mad. She was the only one who truly understood me, and I spent half of my life at her home. It was her who taught me to play the piano."

"She was your guardian angel, so to speak," Max said.

"Guardian angel... Yeah, I never thought that way, but that's correct. Anyway, she passed away a year after I entered boarding school away from home but left the piano technique as a legacy. I started to express my emotions, such as loneliness, anxiety, happiness, thrill as music or songs, and that made me who I am today."

When my story finished, she silently smiled. I made a gesture of "Say something if you want," but she said nothing.

"This meeting..." after a while, Max said. "it feels like a miracle more than you could imagine."


End file.
